


summer of '38

by jamesbuchanan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7405441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesbuchanan/pseuds/jamesbuchanan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In March of 1934, Bucky Barnes turns seventeen years old and is introduced to a new kind of feeling. His chest constricts and he feels dizzy with it, yet strangely encourages it. Funny thing is, he begins to feel it while watching Steve smile around a mouthful of birthday cake, attempting to stifle a laugh as he chews. Bucky thinks he made him laugh.</p><p>For the next four years, that feeling never seems to go away, and while he thinks he should explore it, he never does. But it always happens around Steve Rogers.</p><p>In the summer of 1938, Bucky is finally given an answer to the aching feeling in his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	summer of '38

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first and only stucky related word doc in my computer so hopefully i did it justice. i'm just too in love with pre-ca:tfa stucky that i couldn't help myself. enjoy.

In 1938, Steve and Bucky are standing on a street corner licking ice-cream from the cones Bucky bought them just moments ago. It's one of the hottest summers Bucky can recall since they were little kids. The _Mister Softee_ truck had been crowded with children begging for their parents to buy them some ice-cream to save them from the heat. Bucky'd just caught the guy before he started the truck back up to drive to a new neighborhood.

Steve takes his attention off his vanilla cone, thinks he has a few moments before it starts to melt again, and looks over at Bucky. He's leaning against the lamp pole on the corner, licking around the sides of his ice-cream cone with skill, chocolate dried at the corners of his mouth. His t-shirt is tucked haphazardly in his trousers and there's a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Steve wishes he had his sketchbook with him, Bucky looks great (stunning) standing there, and Steve wants to capture the moment in his charcoals so he never forgets it.

Bucky can tell Steve is looking at him, but he doesn't want to drag his eyes away from his food to make eye contact with him. He doesn't know how to describe how he's feeling other than that he _likes_ knowing Steve is looking at him in a way that Bucky's brain can only supply as with admiration. He hides a smile behind his ice-cream and then that old feeling begins creeping its way up his chest. It's warm and familiar, heating him to the core, but he doesn't fight it. Bucky hasn't fought it since he was seventeen years old and he doesn't plan on ever starting.

In truth, he likes it. This feeling, he's not really sure what to call it, always happens when he's around Steve. And he likes it (adores it).

Finally, he chances a look up and catches Steve's gaze, bright blue eyes entirely fixed on him. Steve seems to let out a breath that he looks surprised to know he was holding and Bucky's lips break out in a full-on grin. He pushes himself off the lamp pole and takes Steve's ice-cream out of his hand, licking around the sides where it's started to melt again, same grin returning to his face when his work is finished.

"Better pay better attention to your cone, Rogers. You've got vanilla all over your hand."

"Wha— Oh."

Steve stares down at said hand to sees said ice-cream melting down the side of his hand. He's going to have to wait until they get back home to wash all of it off. For now though, Bucky takes the napkin wrapped around his own cone and hands it to Steve, who in turn attempts to wipe off whatever melted ice-cream that he can, leaving his palm and fingers sticky and hot. Bucky hands him back his cone and throws an arm around his shoulders unexpectedly, practically tugging Steve across the empty street.

Steve hardly has enough time to toss his napkin in the trashcan on the corner before he's falling in step with him.

*

The air is thick in their apartment. The heat of the summer and the lack of cool air in the room makes it hard for Steve to breathe. Which is why he's having an asthma attack at the kitchen table while Bucky's preparing them lunch.

It happens so slow. Steve is sitting at the table, sketchbook and charcoals laid out across the hardwood. (Truthfully, he had begun to sketch the kitchen from his view at the table, but then his eyes roamed towards Bucky, who'd just closed the fridge and begun his work at the stove, making them sandwiches for lunch. Bucky, who'd been cutting tomatoes in just his shorts having spent the entire morning and late afternoon in the apartment trying to escape the crushing heat wave. He looked too perfect from the angle Steve was sitting to _not_ begin moving his pencil across the page to sketch out the frame of his body.) He's started to outline Bucky's back in long clean lines when his chest tightens up and he erupts into a coughing fit. The pencil falls uselessly from his hand and rolls off the kitchen table, drawing long forgotten.

Bucky throws Steve a look over his shoulder. "Hey, Steve, how much tomato do you wan—"

In-between coughs, Steve can see Bucky stop all movement from the counter and rush over to him, and Steve can't breathe, he can't fucking _breathe_. He feels Bucky's hand rubbing small circles over his back: the first thing that Steve focuses on. The next is quickly established eye contact and copied breathing movements until Steve's chest isn't heaving and his lungs feel slightly less raw. It feels like an entire eternity before he can take an easy breath.

Some days it takes longer to get his breathing in check. Some days Bucky has to make up techniques on the fly to help Steve breathe before he stops altogether. God, Bucky _prays_ that doesn't happen any time soon.

He eyes Steve carefully as he begins to come back to himself. These attacks tire him out easily and Bucky can't stop them, can't make them go away. He just wants one day where he won't have to worry about what health issue might weaken him, a day where Steve can breathe easy and not have a care in the world. Bucky thinks he might ache for it more than he knows Steve does.

"Are you okay?" He's still rubbing circles across Steve's back.

"I'm fi—" he stops to clear his throat, "—I'm fine, Buck."

"Don't scare me like that, punk," he forces a smile to hide his worry.

"Only thing scary here is you."

"You little shit," Bucky shoves him.

Steve's laughter make Bucky's heart swell and the warmth that spreads through his upper body is hastily welcomed. Steve is okay and he's still here. Admittedly, that's all Bucky wants (all Bucky _needs_ ).

*

On Steve's birthday, Bucky takes him to Coney Island. There's always fireworks down by the boardwalk on the Fourth of July, and Bucky wanted to do something special for Steve this year. In other words, he didn't want him to spend another year on the creaky wood floor of their apartment eating cake that Bucky's mom sent over special just for him. Even though there's nothing wrong with that but still. He wanted to treat Steve this year.

So that morning, after waiting for Steve to wake up and enjoy some time lounging around, sketching the street below from the fire escape, taking a short nap and a long shower, Bucky puts his plan into action. When Steve opened the bathroom door after his shower, Bucky threw some slacks and a dress shirt at Steve's pale, damp chest stating, "Get ready. If we're out of the here in the next twenty minutes, we'll make the train for Coney Island." Steve'd stared blankly, blinked once, twice, and then let a grin completely take over his face. He'd huffed a laugh, shook his head, and stepped back into the bathroom to change.

Truthfully, Bucky had waited by the bathroom door for a few moments, listened to the sound of a towel being rubbed on what he knew was Steve's smooth, soft skin, and a hum here and there. But he'd turned on his heel and went straight for the bedroom long before he was in danger of being caught in what looked like eavesdropping.

He buys Steve a root beer float. The carbonation is near terrible for his stomach, but Steve enjoys the treat on the few occasions he allows himself to have it (and the fewer occasions he allows Bucky to pay). Steve nudges him as they walk down the boardwalk, a bright smile waiting for him when he meets his eyes. "Thanks for this, Bucky."

Bucky rolls his eyes affectionately and wraps an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Happy birthday, punk. Enjoy it."

The fireworks start a few hours later, the root beer float long forgotten five trashcans down the boardwalk. Steve watches the fireworks and Bucky watches Steve, watches the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and the reds and blues of the firecrackers illuminating his face each time they go off in a loud boom. He feels a familiar ache in his chest at the sight of Steve truly enjoying himself and lets a smile take over his face. The whole moment is extremely blissful.

He can tell when Steve starts to get tired—of the fireworks and in general—so Bucky guides them back to the subway station. Steve is swaying slightly and Bucky guides him back towards the middle of the platform because God forbid Steve takes one misstep and falls onto the tracks with no way to get himself back to safety. Steve moves with much ease and little grace, fighting to keep his eyes open until the train comes. Bucky holds him steady.

When the train finally comes their car is completely empty save for them. At this point, Steve has succumbed to sleep, head lolled back and limbs loose— stuck in dreamland. Bucky worries his bottom lip between his teeth watching the position Steve's head is in, can only imagine how sore his neck will be if he stays like that the entire ride, and before he can realize it, he's nudging Steve's body against his side, head resting on Bucky's shoulder. He feels Steve stir a bit beside him and holds his breath, but Steve's eyes never flutter open and he slips back under. Bucky exhales in relief, letting his muscles relax and his eyes drift up to the ceiling. In his head he counts how many more stops they have until home.

Two stops before their's Bucky coaxes Steve awake with a gentle shake of his shoulder, giving him time to wake himself up enough to walk out onto the platform without any help. The burst of energy doesn't last. Steve's practically asleep again when they get back to their apartment, plopping down on his bed and working on taking off his shoes.

Bucky's sitting on his own bed adjacent to him, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. Bucky watches him in the dark, eyes roaming without meaning to; not consciously anyway. When Steve looks up he ducks his head quickly although he knows there's no way he knew exactly where or what Bucky was looking at. He peels out of his shirt and begins to work on his trousers, shoes, and socks until he's down to his shorts. He leaves everything in a pile by his bed and pushes himself up on his feet, lets his legs carry him out to the bathroom.

On his way back to bed he passes Steve, who he can tell has just settled in bed. He shoves him with little force and begins to form the words "G'night Steve," but the words die in his throat before he can say them. Steve reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him, rather awkwardly, on top of him. (This is nothing out of the ordinary, he and Steve used to share a bed all the time when they were kids, and they still do every once in a while during the colder months.) Bucky gingerly rolls over onto the empty side of the bed and lets the feeling work its way under his skin and into his bones. He lets it completely take over, pulling Steve into his chest, one armed draped loosely across Steve's waist and the other around his shoulders, fingers running through soft blonde hair at the nape of his neck.

Steve teeters on the edge of consciousness, but Bucky swears on the Virgin Mary that before Steve falls over, his lips ghost over Bucky's pulse point in what Bucky can only describe as the faintest kiss in the history of kisses themselves. He supposes Steve passes out before he can carry out the action that he wanted to, like actually _kissing_ Bucky's neck, and Bucky drifts off before his brain (his heart) makes him say anything stupid.

That night, Bucky dreams of those lips, but they're not kissing his neck. They're kissing his mouth instead.

*

Steve's sketchbook is resting on the kitchen table one morning and Bucky cannot take his eyes off it.

Bucky's not one to pry, not without a) a good reason or b) permission, but he'll be damned if he didn't glance at at least _one_ of the sketches in that book. Steve is still passed out in bed, dead tired from his art class the night before. There's no way time could align itself so that the moment Bucky opened that book, Steve would shuffle out into the kitchen and catch him looking. So he makes a pot of coffee and sits at the table, fingers itching to touch the cracked leather of that damned book.

He's not sure why Steve keeps his art to himself so much, but then again it's not like Bucky ever asked to see one of his drawings before. He might've seen one or two when Steve was willing to show him, when they were in high school, Bucky thinks vaguely, but beyond that nothing more. He'd never asked Steve why he kept such a thick wall between him and his art because he didn't think it was his business to know. If Steve wanted him to know something, he would tell him, this Bucky knows for certain.

So when the book is open and Bucky's had his look at the first page, a sketch of the living room from an angle Bucky can't quite pinpoint, it should be enough for him. It should fill him with satisfaction, maybe even that infamous feeling. It should make him close the book and smile around the rim of his mug as he takes a sip of coffee. It should make him do a lot of things.

It _shouldn't_ make him keep looking.

This is _invading Steve's privacy_ , is what Bucky's brain is yelling at him, _he trusts you, close the fucking book before that changes._ But Bucky doesn't stop, can't bring himself to. He's finally seeing Steve's art up close, where he can examine and admire how amazing Steve's skill really is.

And then that stops. (Briefly.)

He comes across a page that seems to be a sketch of the kitchen. When Bucky's eyes roam further and he can make out a figure standing by what seems to be the counter. There's legs, shorts, the start of arms and a back. Bucky's brain (heart) reels at the realization. That unfinished body is him. His fingers ghost over the page, careful not to touch so as to not smudge or ruin Steve's work. He's in utter disbelief.

Disbelief turns to shock when he turns the page and there's another sketch of him.

And another.

Oh, and another.

They're intricate and beautiful drawings of Bucky. One of him napping, another with his head tipped back in laughter, and another of him leaning against a lamp pole licking an ice-cream cone. Everything feels hazy and when he realizes he's not breathing, takes a sharp intake of breath. He cannot believe this; cannot believe Steve sees him likethis. Bucky may be good looking sure, but he's not a piece of art. Not like this anyway.

Faintly, he hears a door shut and footsteps making their way to where he's sitting. Then there's a voice and then there's Steve.

"Morning Bucky," he rubs at his eyes and Bucky is frozen at the table, unable to turn around to look at him. "Oh."

Bucky supposes that's when Steve notices what he's looking at, but he can't be sure because he won't turn around, can't bring himself to face him. He just sits there and prepares for Steve's outburst on Bucky's invasion of his privacy, but it never comes. He just stands there motionless until Bucky feels his mouth start moving.

"Is this how you see me?"

"Yes," comes the quick reply.

He chances a look at Steve and finds himself being pinned down by piercing blue eyes almost instantly; like Steve is trying to tell him something, but he doesn't know how to convey it.

"Steve, listen, I'm really sorry for—"

"Don't," Steve winces, "please don't apologize, please. I don't care that you looked."

"Then what is it?" His chair scrapes across the tile and he's standing right in front of him now, their faces inches apart. "Steve, what's wrong?"

Steve says nothing, instead closes the distance and wraps skinny arms around Bucky's waist and buries his head in his neck. Bucky's arms are around him immediately, holding him close for his and Steve's sake.

He freezes when he feels Steve's lips on his neck, on that _same exact place_ they were the night of Steve's birthday, right over his pulse point, pressing into his skin. That's when Bucky's brain freezes (his heart takes over, that feeling takes over) and he's pulling away from Steve's touch to place a hand on either side of his neck and connect Steve's mouth with his own. It's an innocent, longing kiss that never goes any further than the press of lips together.

When Bucky finally pulls away, Steve is flushed. Bucky's thumbs are moving in small circles on either side of Steve's neck and Steve lets out a small, pleasant sigh at the touch.

Neither of them move or speak for what feels like hours, days, months even.

And then Steve's asking a simple question that manages to throw Bucky for a loop nonetheless.

"How do you see me?"

"What?"

"Before, when you asked me if those drawings were how I saw you," Steve clarifies. "How do yousee me?"

Bucky's brain forms the words and his heart says them for him. "Like that," he gestures vaguely at Steve's sketchbook sitting on the table behind him, "but bigger, stronger. You're the greatest thing I know. There's this...this feeling..." he runs out of words to describe it, but Steve fills in for him.

"Are you in love with me?"

His body buzzes at the question, his chest tightens with the feeling, his voice is smooth and definite with his answer. "I am."

Because until then Bucky didn't _know_ that he was in love with Steve.

Bucky didn't _know_ that he'd been falling in love with Steve all along.

But Steve knew. Steve knew and he'd loved Bucky just as much, if not more.

Bucky asks the same question back, voice trembling at the idea of being told "no".

Steve's kiss gives him his answer.

*

In August the weather starts to cool down, but the two still keep all the windows cracked open in the apartment, half so the air circulates and half so Steve isn't confined to an asthma induced hell. However, it doesn't help much that Bucky likes to cuddle, even when the weather argues back in protest. Steve never stops Bucky from pulling him into his chest and wrapping his arms around his waist, even if the heat makes him sweat a bit.

In the later hours of the evening after dinner, Steve and Bucky are curled up in Steve's bed, by the window so Steve can breathe better, enjoying the down time they don't usually have between Bucky's part-time summer job and Steve's night classes at the college. But there's no classes tonight and work let out early so here they are. This is different than before, when they'd just hang out on the fire escape and talk and not do things like necking or give hand jobs (among other things). But now they _can_ do those things and Bucky loves it. Loves that he has Steve all to himself in a whole new way.

Since that day in the kitchen with the sketchbook, he's found a new name for his four year old feeling: love. It's always been love, he just never let himself believe in the idea that he could be in love with Steve Rogers. He also never believed in the idea that Steve could ever feel the same way back; at all.

He peers over Steve's shoulder to look at him, feels him inhale and exhale quietly against his chest. He's looking out the window, staring at the building across from theirs, the setting sun behind it creating almost a halo around the structure. Steve's eyelashes cast shadows across his cheeks, lips parted as he breathes through his mouth. And Bucky loves it; loves _him_.

"Buck, can hear you thinkin' from here," Steve turns in his arms and tilts his head up at him, "what's goin' on up there?"

Bucky smiles and closes the space between them, kissing Steve softly. "Nothin'," he says absently afterwards, "just thinking about you."

Steve huffs a laugh, "You're such a sap."

"Don't care what I am so long as I'm yours."

Steve has no retort. Bucky smiles and leans down to kiss him again. Steve sighs into the kiss, arms winding their way around Bucky's waist, warm and familiar. Bucky relishes in it and for the umpteenth time that day he wonders how he got so lucky for things to fall into place as perfectly as they did.

When he thinks Steve isn't paying attention, he lets his hand roam down between them past his shorts. Steve stutters, pulls back and looks at Bucky with dark eyes. "Mhm," he pushes up into Bucky's touch, "keep going." And Bucky does, but achingly slow, pulling a moan from Steve, which makes Bucky's eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Yeah, that's it, come on," Bucky doesn't even realize he's talking until he hears Steve's reply in short breaths, "Oh Christ... Bucky— Shit."

He sees the exact moment Steve loses it and drinks it in, commits that face to fucking memory. And then he's coming in Bucky's hand, head buried in his neck as he lets out a a string of small noises as he hits his high and comes down from it. He feels lips on his neck and hums as Steve begins to press kisses up and down his throat, smiling against his skin. He takes his hand out of Steve's shorts, wipes come off on his own pair, and rests it steadily on Steve's bony hip.

He continues to kiss his neck and Bucky lets him until they become lighter and lighter until they slowly stop. He's passed out, loose and relaxed in Bucky's arms. He presses a kiss to the top of his head and lets his own eyes slip shut.

*

On the last day of summer, Steve and Bucky are outside on their fire escape sitting across from each other, leaning back on the railings. The light falls across Steve's face, bathing him in sunlight, and Bucky can't keep the grin off his face because of it. He looks beautiful.

Steve is sketching him, knees drawn up to his chest, sketchbook resting on his knees, pencil moving rapidly along the page, and tongue poked out in intense concentration. Bucky loves it in more ways than he knows, and tries his best to keep the same pose so Steve can draw him with as little frustration as possible.

He's leaning against the side railings of the fire escape, the metal leaving imprints on his back, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent towards him so he can drape his arm across his knee. Steve keeps taking little glances up at Bucky; full, pink lips upturned in a smile that Bucky knows is just for him, and bright blue eyes that make his heart flutter. It's all he can do not to move across the fire escape to kiss Steve soft and slow, run his hands up and down his sides, drink him in and feel his warmth.

Steve's pencil stops moving and he grins. "C'mere, Bucky."

And Bucky practically pounces, crowding Steve's space, stepping in his sunlight, and crashes his lips onto Steve's, kissing him until he's breathless. Each time he kisses Steve it's like fireworks bursting in vibrant colors behind his eyes, like butterflies in his stomach, absolutely euphoric.

Bucky buries his head in Steve's neck when they've pulled apart, and Steve is quick to move his sketchbook out of danger, spreads his legs apart and lets Bucky fully settle in his space. His lips brush over Steve's neck, smooth, soft skin that he can't help but kiss. He watches the blush creep up Steve's neck as he does so.

"Love you, Steve," he whispers into his skin.

Steve huffs and runs a hand through Bucky's hair. "Love you too, Buck."

His eyes glance over to Steve's open sketchbook, where a extremely detailed picture of himself is staring back up at him. "That looks really great."

Steve cups his cheek and brings his attention back to him. "Yeah, but I've got the best right here." Bucky's heart wants to burst out of his chest right then and there, but he settles for kissing Steve instead.

In the summer of 1938, Bucky Barnes falls in love with Steve Rogers.

Only took him four years to do it.


End file.
